


Justice and Compassion

by stan_of_many



Series: Justice and Compassion [1]
Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Caring Peter Burke, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Neal Caffrey arrest, Neal doesn’t understand compassion, Peter does, Pre-Canon, Sweet, scared Neal caffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 06:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stan_of_many/pseuds/stan_of_many
Summary: “...Burke just looked at him searchingly for a moment longer. His eyes softened as he met Neal’s and Neal had the uncomfortable feeling that Burke saw through him like glass, past the mask of cool con man to the terrified kid that the mask protected. Nobody had ever looked at him that way before. Nobody had ever cared much about what was behind the mask.”Neal is familiar with the good cop tactic, but Agent Peter Burke is confusingly kind—Or “Neal gets arrested by the FBI and learns about the idea of compassion.”
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: Justice and Compassion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218959
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Justice and Compassion

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not quite sure what this is, but I finished it and craved positive reenforcement and decided to post it. 
> 
> To me, compassion is something that would confuse Neal because of the life he’s lived. I loved the thought that Peter would be the one to teach him.

Everyone had something to hide and everyone had an agenda. The secret to being a phenomenal con man was simple: find out the agenda, find out the secret, and use it to your advantage. 

Being able to read people like a book and find out what they wanted was partially natural talent and mostly finely honed skill, but most importantly it was Neal Caffrey’s greatest weapon. It had never once failed him—until Special Agent Peter Burke came onto the scene. 

Agent Burke was a worthy opponent and Neal enjoyed their game quite thoroughly. He wasn’t quite sure why he had first chosen to interact with Burke, to tug his strings, tease him, and all around pester him and get his attention. But he had, and the agent had taken it in stride. 

Of course, as the cards, champaign, and midnight calls became more frequent the FBI grew more vigilant than ever, but there were clear notes of amusement in the agent’s voice as Neal called from India, Scotland, and Russia, knowing full well it was midnight in New York. 

The more Neal interacted with the man the more curious he became. 

On the face of it Peter Burke was basically the USA personified: an honest, law abiding lawman with a wife and an intense love for baseball. Overall he was a creature so  other from anyone Neal had ever really interacted with that it felt at times like observing a different species. It was fascinating. 

Of course, Neal knew that the act was probably only skin deep, but it was a strangely attractive front to the renaissance criminal nonetheless. 

His obsession with the man grew to the point where Neal was quite reluctant when Mozzie had decided to look into “the Suit”. He didn’t  want to know the dirty secrets of Peter Burke, he liked the honest front that the man put up and wanted to pretend that the agent was truly like that. Learning about his mistress, bribes, or falsified reports would tear down the flawless image he had built up. 

Neal knew he was putting the man on a pedestal and he knew the danger of it as well. But there was a clear difference, he told himself, between choosing to admire a person, purposely not searching out their faults with the knowledge that they existed and blindly worshipping someone only to have the role model ripped away in the worst way possible. 

Perhaps it was the romantic in him that needed someone to respect and Peter Burke seemed as good candidate as any to choose. 

Despite his purposeful fantasy Neal was genuinely shocked when Mozzie really did come up with absolutely nothing on the agent. There was no dirt, no bribes, no mistress, not even whispers of a slightly false report. 

Neal had enjoyed pretending Burke really was some sort of truly honest and good person but he hadn’t _really_ thought he was. It was impossible, there wasn’t any such thing as someone without secrets or an agenda. Yet it seemed Burke was less cut and dried than Neal would have thought. 

Neal was intrigued and more determined than ever to get a reading on Peter Burke. 

***

The day he was captured by the FBI should have been the worst day of his life (it was definitely in the top sixteen) but Neal found himself feeling a bit of excitement mixed with apprehension as he was lead to the interrogation room. He would be spending hours face to face with Peter Burke, it was his best opportunity yet to finally solve the puzzle of the man. 

***

His curiosity had grown by a magnitude of ten that day. Burke had startled him at every turn throughout the process. 

Neal had been surprised by the way Burke was treating him. Yes, the agent came over to the squad car sucking exultantly on a familiar looking green lollipop but his expression was good natured not gloating at having won their game and there was respect in his gaze.

Neal’s heart still sank as Burke’s figure darkened the doorway and he climbed into the back of the car next to Neal. Neal had been actively fighting off panic, desperately trying to keep his cool as he was helped into the car, all he wanted was a moment to pull himself together. 

Burke smiled reassuringly as he shut the door, but all he said was, “if you sit forward and lean back it’ll be more comfortable with the cuffs. Not so much strain on your shoulders and hands.” 

He helped Neal into the position and buckled him in. 

Neal was futilely trying to stop shaking, digging the rims of the cuffs hard into his wrists to let the pain distract him.

The agent couldn’t have failed to notice the way the Neal was trembling despite the con’s best efforts to keep himself under control, but he didn’t say anything, just rested a hand on Neal’s knee almost as if he just forgot to move it. 

But he didn’t forget, Neal knew that and the surge of intense warmth that he felt at Burke’s simple touch was undeniable. 

The thought stung Neal as the gentle touch began to calm the trembling, but Neal knew it was true, _it’s all calculated_. It had to be, Burke was trying to put him at ease, make him comfortable so that he would be more willing to talk. Bad cop wasn’t necessary if good cop worked first, but that was all Burke’s good cop was—a tactic. His objective was to uphold the law and his agenda was clear—to get a confession. Every action, kind or otherwise, was toward that goal.

It was the only explanation that made sense and Neal needed to keep hold of it, to stay on guard no matter how much he disliked it. 

The car stopped at a building that would probably have looked a lot less imposing under different circumstances. Burke kept a steady hand at Neal’s back as he guided him toward the entrance but he stopped abruptly a few feet away from the door. Neal looked at him in confusion but the Agent’s attention was fixed on Neal’s back. 

“What’s this?” The cuffs were being removed suddenly and Burke was bringing his hands forward, his tone outraged, “who put these on him? He’s bleeding!” 

Neal stared at his wrists in a moment of detached fascination. He had barely felt the pain as he had tried to ground himself with it but sure enough his wrists were marked with flaming red indents, the skin broken through and bleeding in several places. 

He snapped back suddenly to the moment, 

“I...did that Agent Burke. They weren’t too tight originally.” He instinctively shrank back as the agent’s gaze turned from his agents to his captive. 

“You did this to yourself?” Neal nodded. “Why?” Burke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Neal weighed his answers, cursing his own stupidity. 

The move looked bad—like he was trying to get the cuffs off to escape or trying to set up the FBI for an abuse lawsuit. In reality he’d just been terrified and trying to ground himself, to stop the trembling and keep the tears at bay. But he couldn’t say that in front of seven FBI agents. 

“Pain relaxes me.” 

It was the best he could come up with and it made him sound like a psychopath—he could see the looks the other agents were exchanging. 

But Burke just looked at him searchingly for a moment longer. His eyes softened as he met Neal’s and Neal had the uncomfortable feeling that Burke saw through him like glass, past the mask of cool con man to the terrified kid that the mask protected. Nobody had ever looked at him that way before. Nobody had ever cared much about what was behind the mask. 

The agent’s face relaxed from its suspicion and he took Neal’s wrist gently, 

“I know you’re not going to attack me Caffrey, we’ll get some bandages on that before we put these back on. I’ll just hold on to you for now.” He gripped Neal firmly, one hand on his far shoulder, the other on his arm, and steered him toward the door. 

It wasn’t threatening, rather, it was almost as if the agent was trying to do what the chafing cuffs hadn’t, to help ground Neal.

_It’s all part of his agenda_ , Neal repeated to himself as he fought hard against the urge to melt under Burke’s touch,  _ he’s not comforting you, he’s purposely putting you at ease. It’s a tactic. He wants a confession. That’s all .  _

It didn’t stop his brain from going places he couldn’t afford to let himself go if he wanted to stay on his guard—from imagining that Peter Burke actually cared. 

***

Neal felt a vague ache in his chest as he bantered back and forth good-naturedly with Burke during the interrogation. In another life he and Peter could have gotten along very well, maybe have even been friends. 

Of course that was impossible now, but there was no harm in enjoying the banter even if Burke’s air of camaraderie was surely as calculated as Neal’s answers to his questions. 

There was something, however, that grew more confusing in Neal’s mind as the minutes turned into hours. 

It was small, he could have dismissed it as imagination had it happened only a time or two, but it was six—going on seven times now that he noticed it. 

An inexplicable expression briefly crossing the agent’s face as he looked at the young con artist sitting across from him. 

It was not frustration, not irritation, not any other negative emotion that Neal’s cryptic answers should have given. There was plenty of those of course, Burke certainly wasn’t a saint and Neal had been told he could try the patience of one—but this was something unexpected, something different. 

This was sadness. 

It seemed to have something to do with Neal. 

It came first when they sat down, facing each other directly, returned as they laughed together over an alleged story, and surfaced again as Neal gave a vague answer to a simple question. 

Each time the expression crossed Burke’s face Neal felt a small pang, the emotion so intense in the agent’s eyes despite it’s brevity that Neal felt almost as if he too were grieving. 

But for the life of him Neal couldn’t figure out what about him was causing the agent  sorrow . 

It was a small moment, only an expression and a few simple words that tilted Neal’s world completely on its axis and threw doubt on everything he had thought he’d understand about Peter Burke. 

Six hours of interrogation had been completely fruitless despite the enjoyable banter and camaraderie that had been established. Burke stood up from his seat, the strange grieving expression crossing his face again as he came near Neal on his way out the door. He opened his mouth then closed it again, as if not quite sure what to say, before Neal felt the agent’s hand rest gently on his shoulder. The hand was gentle and comforting as every touch before had been, easing out some of the near constant tension that was flowing through him. 

“Take care Neal.” Burke’s eyes were warm brown as they met the scared blue, but filled with sorrow. Every trace of the exuberant elation of having caught his cleverest nemesis was gone from Peter Burke’s eyes, there was no cruel gloating, just simple, open sadness. 

It was almost if—as if—

Burke’s hand squeezed Neal’s shoulder briefly and he was gone. 

Several other agents, or perhaps they were marshals, were chaining Neal up, but he was too distracted to care, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind spinning. 

In a few moments Agent Peter Burke had upended everything Neal thought he knew. 

He had thought he’d figured it out, he thought he knew Burke’s agenda. All the agent wanted with Neal was to catch him, to put him behind bars, bring justice to the world. Every kind word, every caring action was toward that goal—right?

The sadness and concern, the gentle hand on his shoulder, the encouraging words, they made no sense. There was no reason for Burke to be kind to him after giving up hope to get a confession. 

Neal hadn’t thought the man would be mean or cruel of course, Burke might not hate Neal, he might even like him somewhat—he could  _possibly_ almost feel bad about Neal going to prison, but this? 

This was something else entirely. 

If Neal wasn’t a criminal and Burke an FBI agent, if they weren’t basically strangers with no reason to think twice about each other as people, if it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility...Neal would have thought that Peter Burke cared. 

But that was preposterous of course! It was silly and ridiculous and it was a  _dangerous_ thought for a scared, lonely, and miserable con man to think about. Because it  _wasn’t_ true, it simply wasn’t, and  _pretending_ it was would only hurt him more in the long run. 

Why on earth would Peter Burke care about Neal Caffrey? It made no sense with everything that Neal knew about life. People cared about you based on what you could give them, and Neal Caffrey had never given Peter Burke anything and never would. Why would the agent care about someone who had only ever brought him stress and annoyance, perhaps a moment or two of entertainment at best? 

But...how else to explain the steady kindness that had been Neal’s only constant throughout the terrifying day? 

The helpful tip on how to sit with cuffs, the steady hand on his knee, the anger at the bleeding wrists and then understanding at Neal’s forced bravado, the intense sadness as the agent sat opposite a man in chains—all of the agent’s actions took on a new light with the realization. 

Peter wasn’t trying to put Neal at ease in order to gain a confession and nail him with fifty years in prison, no. Peter had done all of that because, despite their roles as fox and hound,he didn’t want Neal to be scared, to be hurt, or in pain. 

The lawman fought hard to bring justice, but he mixed it with kindness and compassion. 

The question pounded through Neal’s mind—why was Peter Burke being kind to him? Why did Peter care? Why? Why? Why?—until the impersonal machine of government worked effeciently to chain, strip search, and lock the trembling young criminal into a concrete cell and the why stopped mattering so much. 

Peter Burke did care, and that was that. 

Neal resolved to figure out the why someday, but for now the care, concern, and compassion was enough. 

The ghost of Peter’s hand on his shoulder warmed him as Neal curled miserably into his thin blanket, his face streaking with long held back tears. 

Peter cared, and that was all that mattered. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m getting ideas for a second part (some of Peter’s perspective and maybe a conversation between them) so we’ll see how that goes. If you like this let me know! The encouragement will probably help me write.


End file.
